


Hayloft

by CaraSam



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Breathplay, Crying, Dom/sub, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Face-Fucking, Fluff and Smut, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Gratuitous Smut, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion Wears Makeup, Jaskier | Dandelion is a Size Queen, Laughter During Sex, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Roughness, Safe Sane and Consensual, Shameless Smut, Size Kink, Smut, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:40:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25559713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaraSam/pseuds/CaraSam
Summary: Jaskier discovers Geralt likes being called sire, and he is more than happy to oblige.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 5
Kudos: 246





	Hayloft

**Author's Note:**

> Literally just an excuse to play around with kink writing. I wrote this in a fit of insomnia so it's uh. Interesting

Jaskier groaned as his back hit the door of the hayloft, knees buckling underneath him. Geralt seemed unperturbed by it, instead guiding him down until his face was level with the Witcher’s groin. His eyes roved over him hungrily, fingers reaching up to unlace his trousers. From this angle, everything about the Witcher looked bigger… Towering over him and making him feel like prey under those piercing amber eyes.  _ Gods _ , he loved it when Geralt took control. Rough fingers laced through his hair, and he took the hint like the warning it was. His fingers wrapped around his girth, leaning in to kiss away the beads of precum pooling at his head.

“Remember the safeword?” It sounded like he hadn’t spoken in years, rough and deep and completely alluring. He chuckled in response, leaning in to kiss his way down his shaft to nuzzle his nose against the wiry gray at his base.

“Of course, sire.” Geralt’s hand clenched in his hair, and  _ oh _ , that felt nice. “You like it when I call you sire? Mm, look at you, still surprising me every day…”

“ _ Safeword. _ ”

“Lute.”

“Or?”

“Or three smacks on your leg and you’ll stop. Yes, love, I know.” Jaskier cooed, one hand tracing up his lover’s leg to cup his testicles, rolling them irreverently in his palm. “Relax, I can take it all. I am willingly at your mercy, sire. Do with me what you wish.”

“You… Incubus.” Geralt growled, “Why don’t you put that mouth to better use?”

“Gladly, my Witcher.” Jaskier pulled back to meet his eyes as he began to slowly massage over his length, guiding it into his mouth. Even just the head of him was enormous, bigger than that of any lover he’d had before, and if he were being honest, that was quite the turn on. Long before they’d become lovers, he’d been pursuing him fervently, longing to acquaint himself with every inch of the glorious bastard. Geralt groaned, and he closed his eyes to focus on the task at hand.

He could already feel the precum falling against his tongue, bittersweet but ever so welcome. He ran the flat of his tongue over Geralt’s slit, chasing that addictive flavor to its source before ducking back to suck languidly over him, taking his time to press forward and accept him ever deeper. What he had yet to get to, he stroked slow and firm, in time with the hand delicately fondling at his balls. If the harsh way Geralt was holding his hair was anything to go by, his poor Witcher was at the end of his self control. That was no good. If he was still able to hold back, obviously he just had to work harder.

He leaned in to swallow down his cock until it hit the back of his throat, then pushed it further still. He paused when his nose finally lay nuzzled up to his belly, forcing himself to steady his breathing and relaxing his throat around the length that intruded on it. There was a strangled groan above him, and he dropped both his hands to steady himself on the floor, knees becoming much too unsteady. He was sure to be bruised by morning, but that was a fuss for tomorrow. Jaskier pulled back until only the head remained between his lips, glancing up to give Geralt a short nod. That was all he needed before he was being ushered forward by those powerful, scarred hands, his hips moving in time to fuck deep into his throat.

The first few thrusts were always the most mind shattering, forcing a loud whine from somewhere deep inside him and making him choke. He had long since ridden himself of his gag reflex, but there was no way to learn how to keep a steady airflow when his throat was being otherwise occupied. So he focused himself on breathing in through his nose, leaving Geralt to chase his pleasure and bring Jaskier along for the ride. The shift of his body as his face was brought into every thrust of his Witcher’s hips made him painfully aware of the drag of his cock against the fabric of his smallclothes, friction sharp against the cloth. Though it was quite uncomfortable, he made no effort to fix it; that wasn’t part of the game.

He could feel the warm slide of cum and spit down his chin, but in a way, that was even more hot… He already knew from the ache of his jaw and throat they would ache for days, probably only just recovering in time for whatever town they arrive at next for him to play. Sure his voice may be his moneymaker, as it was, but the idea of losing it, losing everything to Geralt, simply because he’d wished it made him want to swoon. Or maybe that was the lack of air… Though he liked that too. He would give Geralt his everything, with just a word.

By the time Geralt showed absolutely any sign of finishing, his lungs were burning, mind fuzzy with lust. His entire body was alight, and he didn’t even notice there were tears falling over his cheeks and presumably smearing his carefully crafted eyeliner until he felt Geralt’s thumbs wiping them away. He faintly heard him mumbling praises as the rhythm of his hips stuttered and he bobbed his head with a renewed fervor until he felt the telltale warmth of orgasm hitting the back of his throat. Jaskier waited until he was completely still before pulling away, making a show of swallowing down all his spend and licking him clean. Geralt shivered under his attentions, and Jaskier looked up to catch his gaze, brilliant amber eyes hazy but soft. Oh, he would have to thank all the gods for that sweet look, and that it might be reserved for only him.

“Jask…”

“Mm, Geralt… I’m still…” He laughed breathlessly, gesturing vaguely to the obvious press of his length against his pants.

“Fuck… Here, let me…” The Witcher offered out a hand, pulling up his shaky bard into his arms. Or, he’d tried to.

Jaskier gasped as he topped forward onto Geralt’s chest, hay flying up with the impact of it. There was a pause as the two processed the absurdity of it all, before both breathing out into bouts of laughter. Strong arms wrapped around the bard’s middle, and he nuzzled his face into Geralt’s shoulder. It was a perfect little moment, basking in the fading sunlight, hay clinging to their hair and clothes, laying together in their own world where there was nothing else but the two of them and their hayloft.

The two fell quiet as they regained their breath, Geralt trailing soft kisses over wherever he could reach of his lover. “I still need to take care of you.”

“Mm, I’d like that.” Jaskier said softly, smile playing over his lips, even as he shimmied out of his pants. While he worked on getting out of the offending clothing, Geralt set about finding their oil. It wasn’t so uncommon they would get caught up in a moment of passion and want to go further, so they would try to keep it nearby for any occasion, but… Once more…

“Where did you put the oil?”

“Hm? I put it in the pack as usual…”

“I don’t see it.”

“But I… I don’t think I put it in Roach’s bag.”

“You should pray you didn’t bard, you’re gonna traumatize the poor girl.”

“Ger, darling,” Jaskier laughed, plopping down naked beside him in the hay. “I don’t think your horse knows nor cares what you keep in her saddlebags. You would dare to keep  _ monster tongues _ in there, but an unassuming vial is too much?”

“She’s… She deserves better.”

“Relax, I am almost certain it’s in the pack with my sewing supplies.”

“Damn, I didn’t check there… Here we go.”

“I told you.” Jaskier gave another soft laugh, and was promptly silenced with a kiss.

“There’s still business to attend to.” Geralt gestured with the vial to Jaskier’s dick, still flush with need.

“I like the sounds of that. Are you going to fuck me nice and hard, sire~?” The other scoffed at that, pouring the oil over his fingers and bringing them down to press against his rim. He yelped at the cold, but was silenced again with a kiss.

“You talk too much.”

“You brute…” They both chuckled at that, leaning in simultaneously to press their foreheads together.

“I’m going to put a finger in, okay?”

“Yeah, I’m ready.” Jaskier laid back, breathing in deep and slow as one of Geralt’s fingers pressed into him. Even covered in oil, he could feel the roughness of it, calloused, but not unpleasantly so. He tried to ground himself on the sensation as Geralt gave a few experimental thrusts.

“Does it hurt?”

“No, it’s- it’s really good. I’m ready for another.”

“Are you-”

“ _ Yes, _ Ger, I need you so badly. I don’t care if it’s a little rough, I’ve waited enough!”

“Alright… Just tell me if I should stop.”

“Yes, yes, get on with it, please?” Geralt moved to press a second finger into him, barely breaching before getting a treacherous grin and halting.

“What’s the magic word?”

“Are you… Gods, Ger, please?” Jaskier groaned, arching up into his touch for more.

“Try again.”

“Is it… You want me to call you sire again?” If the press of the fingers inside of him was anything to go by… “You’re such an ass…”

Any further complaints were cut off by the sharp thrust of those two fingers, scissoring and twisting and every so often grazing over his sweet spot. It was like being struck by lightning, if lighting made one want to orgasm. He… Didn’t think it did. But fuck…  _ Butt fuck… _

“Jask?”

“I’m good! Really good. Please, please, sire, just take me already?” Jaskier couldn’t help the breathy whine that escaped him with the pull of Geralt’s fingers, but the Witcher was quick to roll over and straddle his hips. Through half lidded eyes, he saw Geralt oiling himself up before feeling the press of his cockhead against him. Thank the gods for Witcher stamina, he thought vaguely, before there was the push of Geralt’s hips against him, and all thoughts fled his head in preference for pure, overwhelming ecstasy.

Geralt’s rhythm was slow and methodical, each drag of skin making him see stars. He’d been completely untouched, but now he felt overwhelmingly full in the most addictive ways. He was intimately acquainted with him already, and still, it felt like he was going to be split in half and he  _ loved _ it. He could hardly stop the flood of praises that spilled from his lips if he wanted to. A slight shift of Geralt’s angle, and  _ oh _ , he was seeing stars.

“Sire! Fuck, yes, sire, there! Therethere _there_ _please_!” He sobbed, wrapping his legs around him tightly, urging him in further. Geralt gave a low moan in response, picking up the pace to fuck into him harder, and in turn making Jaskier louder.

“Fuck… You’re killing me here, Jask. Do you have any idea how sexy you are like this?”

“Ger, sire, please, gods, mercy, I’m so close, Ger,  _ ah _ !” Jaskier keened as Geralt wrapped a hand around him, pumping him in time with the movements of his hips. The bard’s toes curled, fingers grasping desperately for purchase as his orgasm rocked through him, coating his stomach along with Geralt’s hand. The Witcher moaned low as his body clenched around him instinctively, and with a few more deep thrusts, he too was pushed over the edge.

Both slowed to a stop as they came down from their respective highs, panting for breath and basking in the afterglow that was their lovemaking. Every time, it seemed, was overwhelming, the kindness and warmth in the other’s eyes as they looked at each other, the lazy kisses they’d pepper each other with, like every time they just couldn’t believe they were there, that it was real. If they were ever to have a tradition together, Jaskier would like it to be that. That reverence and post coital bliss… There was something so perfect about it all, that not even a song or the most beautiful painting, or all the words in the world could describe it. Still, to his heart, he was a bard, and if there was no other way he could put his love into art, he would try to do it justice in song.

“Jaskier?” Geralt’s voice was breathy and soft, melting his heart in his chest with just that one word.

“Yes, love?”

“Please… Don’t write a ballad about my cock.”

“It’s just- it’s all just so perfect though!”

“We are  _ not _ having this conversation again, bard. Go to sleep.”

“But Geralt-!” He was cut off with a kiss, and he had no complaints about that. Instead, he reached up to tangle his fingers through the other’s long white hair, smiling against his lips. Even if he couldn’t put that moment into song, it was still quite perfect… Just a Witcher and his bard, tangled up in knots in the dying sunlight, ignorant of anything beyond their own little world. And he was glad to stay there for even just a moment longer.

**Author's Note:**

> Any comments are much appreciated! I want to write more for this fandom soon, so I'm also taking kink or drabble requests


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